


Silent Loss

by bikuai



Series: Jesse McCree Ain’t No Lost Cause [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackwatch Era, Gen, Gore, Jesse McCree is left handed, Jesse McCree loses his arm, Major Character Injury, just a little bit, mentions of amputation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikuai/pseuds/bikuai
Summary: When the mission goes wrong, Jesse McCree loses his arm.
Relationships: Jesse McCree & Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Series: Jesse McCree Ain’t No Lost Cause [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820152
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62





	Silent Loss

**Author's Note:**

> I made a series for my Overwatch ficverse. The fics are in chronological order but each should be okay as a stand alone.
> 
> No title song this time, but rest assured, the tradition isn’t dead yet.

When the storm of dust and debris subsides, Jesse McCree is nowhere to be found. Mountains and valleys of rubble are piled throughout the remnants of the warehouse. Through the ruined ceiling, a disc of moonlight casts grave shadows on the wreckage.

Commander Gabriel Reyes moves slowly, careful not to upset the delicate balance of concrete and steel around him. Genji is several meters northeast of his position, looking just as distraught as him. His hair glimmers silver with dust as he whips his head around to look for McCree, but that’s not what catches the commander’s attention. On a small patch of undisturbed floor lies Peacekeeper, its silver decal gleaming in the moonlight. McCree is a lot of things, but when it comes to his signature weapon, he is nothing but diligent. To see it discarded in this way, there must be something terribly wrong.

Reyes knows that, and when he sees Genji frantically digging through a pile of rubble, his heart clenches and recedes into his chest. The commander throws caution to the wind and rushes to Genji’s side in a series of sprints and hops. He only stops to grab McCree’s revolver and tuck it into his belt. 

Landing next to the ninja, his hands grip the slab of concrete. It takes the combined power of Genji’s mechanical arm and the commander’s enhanced strength to move the debris. When they tug it away, the stone tomb topples and they see McCree. Or at least, part of him.

His left arm is all but separated at the elbow. Fleshy muscle, skin, and tendons retain their sheen, moist with blood. The inky substance is smeared all over the rocks, painting them a deep crimson. Even McCree’s distinctive Deadlock tattoo is rendered unidentifiable under the wash of red. The sight of so much blood—the blood of a friend—makes Genji dizzy. His voice wavers.

“Commander…”

Reyes pretends not to hear, tearing away at the remaining chunks of concrete. “Jesse? Kid, if you can hear me, you gotta say something.”

The lack of response is unnerving, but the two manage to uncover all of McCree. There’s a splotch of blood at his temple, he’s sweating profusely, and his eyes are shut. However, the rest of his limbs are still attached. That and McCree’s shallow breaths are all that keep Reyes’s emotions under control. 

Genji mirrors his sentiment. “He’s alive,” he whispers incredulously.

“He won’t be for long if we don’t stop this bleeding,” Reyes replies, pulling a knife from his belt. He slips it under McCree’s serape and saws up through the fabric, freeing a long piece of the cloth. The commander hasn’t tied a tourniquet in a long time, yet his hands go through the motions with expert precision. Even the half-conscious whimpers from McCree aren’t enough to sway his focus.

A voice in his ear draws his focus: it’s Captain Amari.

“Reyes, we saw the building collapse, and exfil is now on its way to your location.”

“ETA?” The commander asks, tying the last knot in the tourniquet. His hands shake ever so slightly as he tucks back the lock of hair at McCree’s temple to examine the wound there.

“Ten minutes,” she says. 

Reyes takes a deep breath. “Ana, we need to get out of here  _ now. _ Reinforcements could be here any second and Jesse is injured. If he doesn’t get medical attention and fast, he's not going to make it.”

“I hear you. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

‘As soon as we can’ feels like an eternity to the commander. His eyes don’t leave McCree, as if tearing his gaze away would cause the rise and falls of Jesse’s chest to cease. Reyes has lost soldiers before—many, many good soldiers—but Jesse is different. He’s the closest thing Reyes has to a son, and despite all his childish antics, the commander loves him like one too.

“Don’t worry, kid. We’re gonna get you out of here,” he promises. The words ring hollow until Genji points out a dark aircraft nearing their position.

When the drop ship lands, the commander lifts McCree’s limp body onto his shoulders. Genji has never seen the commander treat him so tenderly; he’s used to watching the former destroy the cowboy in the sparring ring. However, as merciless as the commander can be, it’s clear that Jesse McCree is in good hands. Even, surefooted steps close the distance between them and the ship. The cowboy’s hat slips off in the process, but Genji is quick to catch it. Jesse has lost enough today; he doesn’t need to deal with the loss of his hat as well. The commander mutters a word of gratitude.

Despite what they’ve been through tonight—all the running, jumping, punching, and shooting—Reyes still has the strength to carry McCree up the platform. His muscles are more tired than he can hope to admit, but it’s nothing compared to the fear and worry that fill his chest with resolve. 

The ship lifts off with a low roar, leaving the remains of the warehouse in a plume of dust. Reyes takes a seat with a heavy sigh. Without thinking, he pulls Peacekeeper from his belt and inspects it. The revolver is in pristine condition, as always; there’s not a scratch on it. At that, an odd sense of pride wells in the commander. His eyes flick up to McCree, who is now being tended to by a set of Blackwatch medics. Gabriel Reyes can’t describe what he saw in Jesse the first time they met, but part of him feels it again, in this moment.

***

When McCree’s eyes flutter open, Gabriel Reyes is sitting right there beside him. Jesse’s breath hitches then evens out in a long exhale.

“You’ve jus’ been watchin’ me sleep, huh? That’s weird, boss.” His voice is heavy with sleep and the myriad of drugs flowing through his IV.

Glad to see McCree awake and responsive, Reyes speaks openly. “What can I say? I was real worried about you, kid. You took a bad spill out there.” He’s trying to be lighthearted about it, but there’s still an undertone of seriousness in his voice.

“I won’t do it again,” Jesse murmurs as he turns to look at Reyes. His eyes are unfocused, vulnerable. “I’m sorry.”

The commander sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I know I don’t say it all that often, but I care about you, Jesse. You’re a good soldier, and you’re a part of the team. We can’t lose you.”

McCree gives him a big lopsided smile. “Aw, you’re gettin’ soft on me.”

Reyes chuckles. “I’m not the soft one here. Genji’s been checking up on you more than I have.”

It’s an exaggeration, but only barely. Even Moira had crept out of her lab and down to the medbay, though maybe that was only to see the extent of the cowboy’s injuries. She certainly seemed interested in his amputation, now that the commander recalls.

After a few more casual remarks, the conversation lulls, and the two slip into a comfortable silence. Reyes switches on a holographic projection of a Clint Eastwood movie, and McCree watches it, though his mind appears to be elsewhere. Slow, languid blinks are the only clue that he is awake at all; his breathing is deep and rhythmic while none of his extremities so much as twitch.

The commander watches him and wonders if he has noticed his missing left forearm. Maybe he’s still too doped up for the loss to register, or maybe he knows but doesn’t want to bring anyone’s attention to it. Classic Jesse McCree: never one to share his burden with anyone else.

Reyes almost wants to ask, just to get it off the table, but he hears someone calling his name from the other side of the curtain. He would know that voice anywhere.

“You can come in,” Reyes answers.

Strike Commander Morrison steps in and is surprised to see McCree awake. His smile only slightly wavers as he sees the bandages wrapped around the cowboy’s head, the missing lump of left arm under the sheets, and the cast on his leg. For someone so young, McCree has experienced more combat injuries than some people twice his age. He’s lucky to be alive.

“Are you doing alright, son? Reyes isn’t being too tough on you, is he?” Morrison asks, stepping through the movie’s hologram and coming to stand by his partner.

McCree mumbles a response, already slipping back into unconsciousness. Half of it is unintelligible; the other half is an obvious jab at the Blackwatch commander’s “helicoptering.” Morrison chuckles at that while Reyes shakes his head in mock disdain.

“I visit him in medbay once, and suddenly I’m overdoing it. Funny how that works,” Reyes says, trying to hide his smile. 

Before long, the cowboy is fast asleep. Morrison puts a hand on Reyes’s shoulder.

“He’s going to need you more than ever now. Learning to shoot with his other hand won’t be easy.” The strike commander’s voice is barely above a whisper. Reyes tenses under his grip.

“As if he’s going to be cleared to train anytime soon. Angela has put a whole lot of recovery time and physical therapy on his schedule,” Reyes says, already resigned to the whole affair. Rest would do McCree some good, and he trusts the doctor’s judgement.

“Any news on a prosthetic? I know she’s still focused on adapting Genji’s tech but…” Morrison trails off, an ounce of hope in his words.

“It’s a long way off, Jack. The kid’s arm hasn’t healed yet, so there’s no telling if the nerves there are still intact,” he explains, folding his arms over his chest. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel at least a little responsible for the mission’s lackluster outcome. Everything had been going so well until—

The strike commander squeezes his shoulder. “Gabe, it’s okay, just relax. As long as he has you, I know he’ll be alright.”

Reyes stands and turns to Morrison, who gives him a reassuring smile. It’s always been hard for them to talk about their emotions, but in this moment, in spite of everything, they shed their hardened exteriors. They are there for each other, and they are there for Jesse.

**Author's Note:**

> I already have a couple more McCree-centric fics planned, but I’m not opposed to accepting some prompt suggestions. Slap those down in the comments.
> 
> Thanks for reading, partner! *tips cowboy hat*


End file.
